


Ciel's Intimacy

by acjkpop



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Gen, Intimacy, Non-Sexual Intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:07:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23626615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acjkpop/pseuds/acjkpop
Summary: What is intimacy? Is it the kiss of a mother, or of a lover?oran introspection on o!ciel's view of intimacy
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Ciel's Intimacy

**Author's Note:**

> i have to thank [amanitus](https://amanitus.tumblr.com/) for the brilliant idea! it was their headcanon that inspired me to write this. also thanks to [sleeplessinaltissia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeplessinaltissia/pseuds/sleeplessinaltissia) and [singtome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/singtome/pseuds/singtome) for looking this over!  
> criticism is welcome.

There were times, as he sat in his chair and stared out the window, when he wondered what real intimacy was like. Was it like when his parents would shower him in gifts when they came back from London? Or like playing chess against Tanaka? Or spending time with Ciel?

Or was intimacy the memories that kept him up at night? The memories of being on display for the uncaring amusement of others, of seeing his brother stabbed in front of his eyes?

Was intimacy Sebastian following every order? Was it staffing his manor with murderers, or was it playing games with the Queen and those in the underground?

No, he was sure it was something he would never know.

Still, he wondered, he yearned, he _craved_ intimacy. He would sit and stare out his window and think about the poetry he would translate, the English tragedies part of his culture. Would intimacy be word games with one you pretend to hate, or would it be fated by the gods?

There was always a kiss in the literature he read. A kiss to signify the romantic love between two people. A kiss as an affectionate symbol between parent and child. A kiss as a goodbye.

At nights, he remembered the kiss his mother would give him and his brother before they fell asleep. Was that the same as intimacy?

In thoughts he didn’t like to think, he entertained the idea of ordering Sebastian to kiss him.

What would it be like, to kiss a demon, a man, in the most intimate of ways? Would his heart race, his cheeks flush? Would he want to write sonnets or destroy enemies? Would it be something he would do anything just to have another taste of?

He feels the kiss would expose too much of himself. Too much of the child he still is. Too much of the pain and humiliation he carries. Too much of the desperate need for gentle contact that he yearns for.

Would Sebastian, though a demon and made of sin, even want to kiss him after the defiling he underwent? Would Sebastian want to kiss him voluntarily, or would he only do it under an order? Would _anyone_ want to kiss him after they learned of the rapes he was subject to, the forced touching, the skin crawling laughs?

He would hate the pity he was sure Elizabeth would give him, despise it. He was stronger than that cult, than the mastermind behind them. He would plan, execute, and enjoy his revenge when that came to pass.

But could he remain alone until that time, with only Sebastian as his only companion, though he was knight in the chess game he was playing, servant to the whims of his master? Would Sebastian’s contracted companionship be enough to sustain him? To keep the craving for true intimacy at bay? So far, it seemed so. Their banter and games brought him genuine amusement, and helped lighten his spirits.

In bed, as he stared at the moon before Sebastian closed the curtains, he fantasized of pulling Sebastian close, breathing in the same air as him, kissing him on his lips. He was sure that, even if Sebastian was there as his loyal dog, Sebastian would keep the action secret, and wouldn’t let it affect anything they do together.

But the problem was always him and his refusal to be the first to reach out. For fear of being pitied. For fear of being mocked. For fear of being rejected.

His fantasy would die when Sebastian could come in to close the curtains, his cowardice keeping his arms still, his mouth closed.

His dreams, when he got through his nightmarish memories, were of him being kissed and feeling his heart, his soul, burst from his lips. He felt exposed, but he could never figure out if it was liberating of damning.

It would forever be a fantasy, a dream always outside the reach of his hand, as he realized every morning when he woke. The casual intimacy he would see in the streets of London, the passionate intimacy he read in poetry and novels would forever be out of his grasp.

But, the smallest part of him held out hope, that maybe, just for a moment, it could be his.


End file.
